


(gotta pay those) altar dues

by horatioandophelia



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clubbing, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, info desk!E, security guard!R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:55:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22428943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horatioandophelia/pseuds/horatioandophelia
Summary: Enjolras sighed. “I know,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Sorry. It’s been a day.”“It’ll get better,” said Combeferre. “You’re going to make it.”“I sure hope so,” said Enjolras, glancing over at the baggage claim exit. No reason, he told himself, just looking. The security guard grinned at him, waving a little.Smiling slightly, Enjolras waved back.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 7
Kudos: 187





	(gotta pay those) altar dues

Enjolras jumped as someone shrieked across the terminal, almost missing what his new manager was saying as he glanced over the crowds of people to locate the source of the noise. A black-haired security guard by the baggage claim exit frowned, turning his head towards the sound. The rest of the crowd, however, ignored it.  _ You’ve got to get used to it.  _

“And if you have any questions, my phone number is taped up on the wall right here,” said the manager kindly, tapping the wall behind him, which was covered in various scraps of paper.

He nodded, swallowing.  _ Which --? Also, where’s the phone? Or the bathroom? _

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling. “It seems a little overwhelming at first, but you’ll be in the swing of it before you know it.”

He forced himself to smile back. “Thank you.”

“Alright. I’ll leave you to it.” She patted his arm, moving around him in the tiny cubicle and back out into the terminal. 

Shuffling the endless pile of papers on his desk, he looked out over the terminal again, knowing his face was showing his absolute terror.  _ How am I going to manage any of this? _

The dark-haired security guard caught his eye and smiled at him, giving him a subtle thumbs-up. 

Something in his chest loosened its iron grip, just a little bit. 

“P-Paris-Charles de Gaulle, how may I help you in your visit to Paris today?”

“Nice stammer,” came Combeferre’s voice through the earpiece. “How’s it going?”

“Hey, Ferre,” said Enjolras, sighing in relief. “Honestly, kind of shitty. I still don’t know how to transfer anyone’s calls and half the time they don’t speak French or English  _ or  _ German and I’m stuck wishing I could mime out the conversation, but I  _ can’t  _ because it’s on the phone!” His voice rose, and the security guard that had given him a thumbs-up yesterday glanced in his direction, frowning. He had a five o’clock shadow despite it being only ten in the morning, but he still had a nice profile.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” said Combeferre. “Do you think it’ll eventually get better though?”

“I hope so,” said Enjolras, lowering his voice. “It’s kind of overwhelming.”

“Well, Courf and Jehan invited us over to their place tonight for tacos. Jehan said Montparnasse made some massive sale or something at work so they’re celebrating and wanted us to join.”

“‘Massive sale,’ my ass,” muttered Enjolras. 

“Hey, the money he gets goes towards good causes. I mean, yeah, he doesn’t have a moral compass, but I don’t think the law should stop him from doing good, you know?” said Combeferre.

“The law should be his moral compass,” said Enjolras stubbornly. “It’s the  _ law.” _

“Not everyone is in love with Patria, Enj,” said Combeferre. “Anyway, Jehan said we’re supposed to bring a bottle of wine and our ‘best party attitudes,’ so there’s that.” Enjolras could hear the laughter in his voice.

“I swear to God, I get drunk and cry about immigration policy at  _ one  _ party  _ two years ago  _ and I still can’t get past it with them,” said Enjolras heatedly. “Can’t they just let it go? Everyone knows how bad immigration policy is, it’s not just me!” The security glanced over again at his voice, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, they can’t,” said Combeferre, laughing. “You get so worked up about it every time!”

Enjolras sighed. “I know,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Sorry. It’s been a day.”

“It’ll get better,” said Combeferre. “You’re going to make it.”

“I sure hope so,” said Enjolras, glancing over at the baggage claim exit.  _ No reason, _ he told himself,  _ just looking _ . The security guard grinned at him, waving a little. 

Smiling slightly, Enjolras waved back.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but like I said, luggage isn’t my department,” repeated Enjolras tiredly. “Yes, I understand. Yes. Yes, I know. But -- Yes. Yes, I’ll transfer you. Which is what I was  _ trying  _ to do, but you wouldn’t  _ listen _ ,” he snarled quietly as he punched the ‘transfer call’ button harder than strictly necessary. Hanging up the phone, he pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes tiredly. 

“Hello there,” said a hoarse voice above him. He jumped, his neck snapping up.

“Oh, hey, no, I’m not a rabid traveler, I promise,” said the voice, which belonged to a stubbled jawline, a vest reading ‘SECURITY’, and two hands holding coffee. Enjolras blinked.

“Grantaire,” said the man, gesturing to himself with one of the coffees. “Security.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras. “Enjolras. Sorry you heard that,” he added. 

“Not at all,” said Grantaire, smiling. “I’ve heard worse. Here,” he added, extending one of the coffees towards Enjolras tentatively. “I’m not sure if you drink coffee, but I got you one because you’re new and you looked a little harried and I know what it’s like to be new and have everything be overwhelming. Y’know, welcome to the team and all that. Cream and sugar.” 

“Thank you,” said Enjolras. “I really need this. I honestly just haven’t had time to get up and get one.”

Grantaire nodded, glancing around at the hordes of people streaming around them. “Yeah, no kidding. Beats me why they threw you into the ring without giving you a little more training.”

Enjolras frowned. “How do you know I haven’t had much training?”

Grantaire turned pink. “I, um, just noticed that you don’t seem to know exactly what to do sometimes? You're doing great, don't get me wrong! I just - catch snippets of conversations that you have with the people you talk on the phone with and you don’t seem… super confident sometimes. You - your face is, um, kind of a giveaway too.”

“My face,” Enjolras said.

“Look, man, things get slow,” said Grantaire, turning even redder. “Sometimes watching the Greek god at the information desk is the most interesting part of my day. Sue me.”

“Greek god?”  _ What is happening? _

“Yeah,” muttered Grantaire, studying his shoes. A few black curls fell forward onto his forehead. “Like, Apollo or something. You know, the golden god of the sun?”

Enjolras felt his mouth drop open.  _ Holy -- _

“That was so weird, I’m sorry,” said Grantaire, looking more agonized by the second. “I swear, I didn’t mean it to sound -- you know what? I’ll just head back,” he muttered, jerking his thumb towards the baggage claim exit. 

“I’m not,” Enjolras stammered. Grantaire glanced at him, eyes veiled. “I’m not very musical. Or poetic. I’m hardly an Apollo.”

Grantaire stared at him.

“If anything,” said Enjolras, rambling as the green eyes studied him. “I’m not any kind of god at all, I’m just a product of luck and genetics and straight-up rage at the system. I’m pretty boring, actually. Very ordinary and not at all god-like.”  _ For God’s sake, shut up, you idiot. _

Grantaire burst out laughing, his whole face split in a giant grin. “A product of luck and rage. That would have been my second option, after Apollo,” he said.

Enjolras looked up at him, feeling a smile creep across his face.

“Okay,” said Grantaire, collecting himself. “Well. It’s been nice to meet you, Enjolras. Apollo. Whatever. I’ve got to head back.”

“Yeah, of course,” said Enjolras quickly. “No problem. Thank you so much for the coffee. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” said Grantaire. “Anything for the Greek god at the information desk. Gotta pay those altar dues.”

“You’re weird,” said Enjolras, unable to keep the smile from his face.

Grantaire just saluted him and winked, walking backwards from his desk.

The coffee, as he knew it would be, was delicious. 

_ Fuck.  _

“Hey,” said Enjolras automatically as Combeferre unlocked the door and began to unwind his scarf from his neck.

“Hey,” said Combeferre. “How was work today? Getting any easier?”

“Sort of,” said Enjolras, looking down at his tea. He still made stupid mistakes, and catching Grantaire’s eye occasionally all day wasn’t helping. “I made a friend, though.”

“That’s great,” said Combeferre distractedly. “Hey, um, is it okay if Courf comes over later?”

Enjolras frowned. “Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Combeferre blushed. “Well, we’re, um, going on a date tonight.”

Enjolras felt his mug slip between his fingers, bouncing on the carpet and splashing hot tea all over his socks.  _ “What?” _

“Jesus, Enj, you’re going to stain the carpet!” Combeferre grabbed the kitchen towel from the stove and began to dab at the puddle of tea at Enjolras’s feet, his ears red. Enjolras just stared down at him, agog. 

“What -- when the hell did you guys --?”

Combeferre sighed slightly, straightening up. “A couple days ago - he asked me out and I said yes and then he kissed me. Enj, it was insane -- like, in the best way possible. Seems everyone kind of saw it coming except, well, you and me. That’s what Jehan said, anyway. I thought we were just super close friends. Never looked at him like that before, and all of a sudden it was like, ‘Oh.’ And then all I could think was, ‘wow, he’s hot.’ I can’t believe I never saw it before.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras, swallowing. “Um. Congratulations.”

Combeferre smiled, wrapping his arms around Enjolras easily. “Hey,” he said gently. “I’m not going to ditch you or disappear or anything.”

“I know,” said Enjolras, his voice muffled by Combeferre’s coat. “I just -- I feel like I’m the only one now without, you know, a person. God, that’s so lame,” he added, laughing at himself. 

“No, it’s not,” said Combeferre. “That’s totally normal.”

Enjolras nodded, sighing.

“So,” said Combeferre, letting go of him and starting to unbutton his coat. “Tell me about the friend you made.”

Caught off guard, Enjolras felt himself blush.  _ Shit.  _ “Uh,” he said, clearing his throat. “He’s -- nice. And. Has a nice, um, face.”  _ SHIT. _

Combeferre’s eyes lit up. “Oh ho, someone’s got a crush!” he cried, beaming. Enjolras opened his mouth to contradict him, but Combeferre didn’t let him. “Nope. Ignore what I said, save it. I want to hear it when Courf gets here. He’s going to go _nuts_.”

“Oh  _ no,”  _ said Enjolras softly, closing his eyes. Courfeyrac was going to have a field day. It was common knowledge that Enjolras hadn’t had a crush in ages, not since university when he met the president of the Model United Nations club. 

The door slammed. Enjolras jumped, his eyes flying open. 

“Hey Courf!” said Combeferre, blushing. 

“Hi,” said Courfeyrac a little shyly, kissing Combeferre quickly on the cheek. Combeferre whispered something in his ear, and Courfeyrac’s entire face lit up.

_ “What?”  _ he shrieked, whipping around to stare at Enjolras. 

“Shut  _ up, _ ” hissed Enjolras. “We’re going to get a noise complaint.”

“No, you won’t,” said Courfeyrac, his face filled with glee. “Not unless you refuse to tell me every single detail about whoever it is you’ve apparently got a crush on. This is unbelievable, I never thought I’d see the day,” he said. He turned back to Combeferre with an apologetic expression. “Ferre, honey, you know that I’m super stoked about our date, but -- ”

Combeferre cut him off. “Not an issue, Courf, we’re staying here until further notice. Enj with a crush? This is once in a lifetime.”

Courfeyrac beamed at Combeferre, swooping down and kissing him enthusiastically. “You are  _ phenomenal, _ ” he said. Combeferre turned bright red and smiled back at him with an adoring expression Enjolras had only seen him direct at illustrated moth catalogues. 

“So,” said Courfeyrac, suddenly deadly serious. “You’re going to tell me everything, or I’m going to get my speaker from my car and I’m going to blast banjo covers of Britney songs at full volume until you talk. And Ferre won’t stop me.” 

Combeferre smirked. “Nope.”

Enjolras wilted under their combined scrutiny. “Okay,” he said grudgingly. “But you guys are doing whatever dishes there are for the rest of the week.”

“Done,” said Combeferre immediately. 

“Now talk,” said Courfeyrac.

“Hey,” said Grantaire’s voice above him. 

Enjolras startled, blushing. “Hi,” he squeaked.

Grantaire frowned at him. “Are you okay?” 

“Y-yeah,” stammered Enjolras. He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he repeated firmly. “I’m great. How are you?”

“Eh, alright,” Grantaire shrugged. “My landlord is giving me hell, but at least it’s Friday. Hey, me and some of the security guys were going to go get drinks after work, and we were wondering if you’d want to come with us.”

“Definitely,” said Enjolras immediately.  _ Calm down.  _ “Sounds good,” he added, trying to be nonchalant. “Around what time were you thinking?”

Grantaire looked a little shocked. “Wow, um, didn’t think you’d actually say yes after all my creepy stalker shit about you looking like Apollo.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras, deflating. “So - did you not really want -- ”

“No! No, you’re definitely still invited, holy shit, I’m sorry! I was just surprised that you don’t think I’m secretly planning to murder you.”

Enjolras squinted at him. He didn’t really seem the type. “Are you?”

“No!” Grantaire blushed. “God. Sorry. I have no filter.”

“It’s okay,” smiled Enjolras. “I’m pretty unfiltered too.”

“Yeah, I can tell, you were about to rain down hellfire on that one man who wouldn’t leave his wife alone about forgetting her credit card,” said Grantaire. “That was fun to watch.”

“Don’t,” said Enjolras darkly. “He was an asshole, I wanted to call security.”

“Aww, you wanted to see me?” said Grantaire in a singsong voice.

Enjolras felt his face flush. “Uh,” he said. “I just meant -- ”

“Totally kidding,” said Grantaire, back to normal. 

“I just -- ” Enjolras clenched his jaw. “I go through life in my own head and I forget that there are actually people like that, you know? It’s hard for me to believe that people actually treat their spouses that way, or that people actually -- I don’t know -- hate Jews, or hate LGBTQ people. And then every time I’m confronted with it, I feel like I’ve been blindsided, and I should know by now!” He sighed. “Whatever.”

Grantaire looked at him thoughtfully. “Normal people are pretty shitty,” he said. “Doesn’t mean you have to expect them to be, though.”

“Thanks,” said Enjolras. “Sometimes I’m so naive I want to kick my own ass.”

“Nah,” said Grantaire, grinning. “Don’t mar that marble visage. Wouldn’t look good to have a god with a black eye and a dismal outlook on life.”

“What… no,” said Enjolras. “Just no.” 

Grantaire laughed. “For real, though, if you’re still down to come with us, I’ll let you know the plan after we have a break or something and you can meet us there after work if it works for you.”

Enjolras hesitated.  _ Bite the bullet.  _ “Would it -- do you want my number, and you can just text me when you’ve gotten it figured out?” asked Enjolras.

Grantaire’s eyes widened. “Yeah, uh, I -- that’s -- that’d be fine.”

Enjolras swallowed. “You don’t have to. You can just -- if I overstepped -- ”

“No!” Grantaire interrupted, seeming unable to stop himself. “No, that’s perfect, I just -- sorry, here’s my phone, that’s fine, it’s -- thanks, yeah, I’ll text you.”

Enjolras tapped in his number, saving it under ‘Enjolras’, and under  _ Group _ , he wrote, ‘Aeroport Information Desk’. 

He sternly quashed any ridiculous notion of saving himself as ‘Apollo’ and handed Grantaire’s phone back to him.

“Thanks,” said Grantaire. “I’ll let you know.” Enjolras nodded. 

The Information Desk phone rang next to him, and he reluctantly turned to pick it up, grimacing apologetically at Grantaire, who saluted him and began walking back to the terminal exit. 

Twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed.

_ New message from: Unknown number _

Enjolras’s stomach jumped and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling.

_ Unknown number:  _ hey apollo it’s grantaire, are you still down to go out with us? we’re meeting at the musain by st. michel around 9 & my friend jehan is DDing

_ You: _ Definitely!

_ Unknown number:  _ awesome see you then :)

Enjolras sternly repressed the urge to do a happy dance in his seat, and saved the number in his phone as ‘Grantaire’. 

Under  _ Group, _ he wrote ‘:)’ before immediately deleting it, shaking his head and frowning.  _ It’s just drinks with his friends. It doesn’t mean anything. _

“And this is Bahorel, he boxes with me,” said Grantaire, pointing to the last man in the small group that had gathered by the Musain door. Jehan - a tiny nonbinary individual sporting a sequined tanktop, neon yellow pants, and platform heels - jangled their car keys cheerfully.

“Alright, everybody’s introduced! Let’s hit the road!”

Everyone began to file out to Jehan’s pink Subaru, and Enjolras found himself crammed into the very back next to a dark haired girl whom Grantaire had introduced as Eponine.

“R’s never brought anybody with us from outside security before,” she said, pulling her seatbelt across her chest. “But he wouldn’t shut up about the ‘Greek god at the information desk’. Heard so much about you that I finally yelled at him to invite you to come hang with us. He was certain you’d say no. I love him, but he’s so ridiculous sometimes.”

Enjolras swallowed. Eponine, he supposed, was very pretty, with glossy black hair and smokey makeup that matched her voice. “So, are you two -- ?” He trailed off.

Eponine frowned. “Hmm?” 

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Y’know -- are you, uh, together?”

Eponine threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, sweetie,” she said kindly. “You will not find a gayer man in Paris than R.” Enjolras’s heart leapt. Eponine continued, “Honestly, we were probably meant to be soulmates in some other world, but in this one we just chase after beautiful, unattainable people who don’t even see us.”

Enjolras frowned. “That’s awful.” He glanced up at the passenger seat, where Grantaire was chatting animatedly with the pre-med student with glasses named Joly.

“Yeah,” said Eponine tiredly. “Not much we can do about it, though. Falling in love with perfect people when you’re a human trainwreck sucks no matter how you look at it.”

“Isn’t that kind of a bad idea to see them that way, though?” asked Enjolras thoughtfully. “Like, you say someone’s unattainable and perfect, and suddenly that’s all they are. They’re untouchable, they become this idealized version of a person, like they’re not even real anymore.”

She looked at him. 

“Sorry, that was a lot,” he said. “I guess I don’t have much experience with loving people from afar. I shouldn’t judge.”

Eponine blinked, nodding as if confirming something with herself. “No, that makes sense. Honestly, R’s never been as bad as me with the whole idealizing thing, but…” 

“But?”

She levelled her gaze at him. “He calls you Apollo. That might be how he actually sees you.”

It was only 9:45 and Enjolras was already tipsy, but Grantaire seemed entirely sober even though they’d had the same amount. His black hair reflected the colors in the flickering lights as he danced next to Enjolras with a practiced grace that showed professional training, and an obvious talent which Enjolras could never hope to match. He tried not to stare too obviously, but Grantaire was fascinating.

“How are you not drunker?” he shouted over the club music.

Grantaire grinned at him, something powerful and sweet in his gaze as he watched Enjolras sway awkwardly to the beat. “I used to party pretty hard,” he said, leaning towards Enjolras to speak into his ear. “My tolerance has stayed high.” 

His lips brushed the curls next to Enjolras’s temple, and Enjolras’s throat caught. Suddenly all he could process was how close Grantaire was, how he smelled like sweat and cologne and cigarette smoke. “R?”

Grantaire let out a shuddering breath against his neck, his hands coming to hover over Enjolras’s hips. “Right here, Apollo. Want to dance?”

_ “Yes.”  _ There wasn’t even a voice in his head telling him to tone it down - there was only  _ yes.  _ And  _ goddamn  _ and  _ right the fuck now. _

“Okay then,” said Grantaire huskily, pulling him close, and Enjolras could hear the smile in his voice. “Follow my lead then, because as lovely as you are, you are an atrocious dancer.”

Enjolras wanted to protest, but all he could hear was Grantaire’s smokey murmur:  _ lovely lovely lovely.  _ Grantaire’s hands gently but surely pushed and pulled him to the beat; Enjolras eventually gave up trying to resist the temptation to rest his forehead against Grantaire’s collarbone and closed his eyes, breathing him in. Grantaire turned his head and softly rested his cheek against Enjolras’s temple, moving effortlessly to the pulse of the music. Enjolras vaguely registered that they were far too close, that his sober self would be screaming in terror at the sheer mad intimacy of it -- he didn’t  _ do  _ this, get close to people so quickly, so strongly, but then again, he had never felt this safe in his life. 

They danced and danced. At some point, Grantaire’s friends left, bidding them quick goodbyes that Enjolras didn’t really catch. He was fairly certain that a significant amount of time had passed, but he felt no less goldenly and disorientedly drunk. At one point, he lifted his head to look at Grantaire, to watch him dance and see the flashing lights illuminate his face in microseconds of instantaneous motion, but it was too overwhelming, and he eventually gave it up, burying his face in Grantaire’s neck and wrapping his arms around him. He felt Grantaire tense underneath him and almost pulled back, but then he was enveloped in Grantaire’s embrace, his hands moving up from Enjolras’s hips to wrap around him and pull him closer. His skin lit up with sparks wherever Grantaire touched him. 

“Apollo,” he said softly in Enjolras’s ear, barely audible above the pounding music. “Do you want me to take you home?”

Suddenly, every nerve on Enjolras’s body was on fire. He took a deep breath, trying to focus. “Yes,” he said.  _ Oh my God, yes. _

Grantaire nodded. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll get us an Uber.” 

He gently disentangled himself from Enjolras’s embrace and instead took his hand, leading him off the dance floor and through the club. Outside on the curb, Enjolras looked up at the stars, taking deep breaths while Grantaire pulled up an Uber on his phone. 

“Should be here in ten,” said Grantaire, looking at him. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Mmm,” said Enjolras. When Grantaire frowned, looking concerned, he added, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this okay in my entire life.”

Grantaire laughed. Enjolras watched him, swallowing.  _ This man is coming home with me. He wants to come home with me.  _ He stepped closer to Grantaire, the air between them crackling, electric -- it was undeniable, the way Grantaire’s eyes widened looking at him, the way he leaned in towards Enjolras, the way he couldn’t take his eyes from Enjolras’s face. 

The Uber car - a beaten-up Toyota - pulled up next to them, the headlights shining bright between them and casting strange shadows behind them on the sidewalk. Enjolras clung to Grantaire’s hand as they clambered inside and told the driver his address. 

The lights flickered past them. “You know,” murmured Grantaire. “I’ve always loved the city at night, it’s so beautiful. Everything seems a little better.” He looked at Enjolras, and Enjolras’s breath caught at the intensity of his gaze. “Thanks for coming out with us tonight.”

Enjolras nodded, trying to remember how to speak. “Thanks for inviting me. I’m really glad you did.”

Grantaire looked down, smiling. “I’m glad I did, too,” he said quietly, and Enjolras’s heart was beating so hard that he could hear it thrumming in his ears, could feel it pounding in his chest.

They pulled up to Enjolras’s apartment; his whole body was singing as they got out. “I’m up here,” he said, trying to make his voice steady as he led the way up the stairs. Grantaire nodded mutely, his hands in his pockets.  _ Maybe he’s not super affectionate publicly,  _ thought Enjolras uncertainly.  _ Even though I have no right to ask for affection, we’re not -- I don’t think this means --  _ But his thoughts dissolved into nothingness when he caught sight of his front door. Fumbling in his pocket for his keys, he heard Grantaire shift behind him. 

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I think you’re all set, so I’m going to head out.”

Enjolras whipped around to look at him, his keys tumbling from his grasp, his heart falling through the floor. “What?”

Grantaire frowned. “What?”

Enjolras felt all the color slowly drain from his face. “You -- you’re not coming in? You didn’t mean -- ” 

Grantaire looked incredulous. “Wait, what? You -- you actually wanted me to -- ”

“Come in with me, yeah,” finished Enjolras miserably.  _ I am so fucking stupid. _ “I am so sorry, I just thought maybe you’d be interested…” 

Grantaire just stared at him. 

Enjolras swallowed. “Okay, obviously, I was wrong. That’s totally on me. I’m really sorry. Okay,” he repeated, trying to cling to the scraps of his dignity and picking up his keys from the floor. “I’m just going to -- ”

He unlocked the door, stepping through it and turning to face Grantaire, who was still standing there, wide-eyed. “Um,” he said, feeling tears collect in the back of his throat. This was agony. “Good night. Thanks for taking me home. I’m so sorry for just assuming that you wanted -- um, yeah.” Grantaire just looked at him. 

“Good night, Grantaire,” said Enjolras helplessly.

He shut the door quickly, sinking down on the other side of it and burying his face in his hands and trying not to cry. 

_ Stupid. So fucking stupid. _

The next morning, he woke up to the smell of pancakes. Opening his door, he saw Combeferre, shirtless, stirring a bowl of pancake batter while Courfeyrac, dressed in his t-shirt, was perched on the counter next to him, humming along to the gentle country music issuing from the radio and scrolling through his phone. As Enjolras watched, he leaned over and rested his head on Combeferre’s shoulder, watching him stir the batter. Combeferre turned his head and kissed him softly, smiling.

Enjolras shut his door and went back to bed, staying there until they were gone. 

On Monday, Enjolras reached his desk successfully without looking even once in the direction of the baggage claim exit. Even so, he could see the bright yellow of the security guard vests from the corner of his eye, and set his lunchbox on the desk next to him, trying to block out the sight. 

He ate lunch in the back wing of the airport, camping out at one of the three tables in the tiny McDonald’s tucked in the back corner, unable to contemplate staying at his desk a moment longer. 

_ Combeferre:  _ Did you have a good time on Saturday? Sorry, me and Courf just got back in service.

_ Combeferre:  _ [Image]

The photograph was a selfie of Courfeyrac and Combeferre at the top of some mountain that Enjolras was certain he’d never heard of. His jaw clenched; Courfeyrac was beaming, and Combeferre’s eyes were lit up in a way that Enjolras rarely saw. 

_ You:  _ yeah I had a great time, everyone was super nice. Great picture!

He shoved his phone back in his pocket, gathering his trash miserably. They looked so  _ happy.  _

The AirFrance New York flight was coming in, and he picked his way through the packed terminal back to his desk, sitting back down with a resigned sigh as he noticed the blinking hold light on the phone.  _ Probably another call to redirect to baggage claim. Happy Monday. _

“Hello, Charles de Gaulle information desk, how may I help you?”

“Hey, Apollo,” said the person on the other line. 

Enjolras’s throat contracted, and his hand clenched around the phone. “What -- ”

“Hey, don’t hang up, please,” said Grantaire. “I’d be there in person, but I’m at my other job right now. I just didn’t think you’d answer me on your phone, so I called this line.”

Shame raced through him. “Right. What do you want?” he snapped.

“Shit,” said Grantaire softly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I wouldn’t have answered either, after what I pulled. I wanted to apologize. Can I take you out for dinner tonight? Or sometime when you’re free?”

Enjolras felt rage coil in his stomach like a snake. “What the fuck?” he hissed into the mouthpiece. “Is this some pity thing? Like,  _ well, I don’t want to fuck you but I want to feel better about turning you down after you made yourself look like an idiot? _ ” he spat. “No way in hell. Honestly, it would have been better if you hadn’t called.”

There was silence on the other end. It lasted so long that Enjolras almost hung up, but then he heard a whisper on the other end. 

“Fuck,” it said. “Fuck, I -- ”

“What?”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Do you remember -- okay, on your first day, you got about a million phone calls, you weren’t off the phone the whole day. I remember thinking,  _ that poor fucker.  _ But I was close enough to see your face and hear your voice, and I could tell that you cared that every single one of those people that called got the information they needed, even though you had no idea what you were doing. You were so stressed out, but you never let it show to those people. You were so kind to them. And you were kind to them in Greek and German and French and English and Italian.”

Enjolras took a breath, something in his chest fluttering. Grantaire continued. 

“I know that job,” he said. “You have to know a  _ lot  _ about Paris, and France in general. The history, the traffic patterns, the government, the commerce, the laws. You have to be damned knowledgeable and you have to pull random shit out of your head at the drop of a hat. And then when I went over to talk to you -- this gorgeous blond guy who’s fluent in every language on the signs above my head -- you’re the most genuine, honest person ever, even though I’m acting like some sort of stalker weirdo.”

“So what -- ” interrupted Enjolras.

“Hang on, I’m getting there,” said Grantaire. “So I invite you out, because, frankly, you’re incredible and I can’t help myself, and I’m convinced you’ll say no because I’m a security guard who can’t hitch two consecutive words together and you’re, well, Apollo. And you -- you say yes.” His voice drops. “And you meet my friends. And they like you. And we dance, and you’re like -- like some sort of dream. I can’t really believe what’s happening, I convince myself that as soon as we leave that dance floor it’ll be over and we’ll go back to casual banter at your desk, because how could you look at me and see anything you’d want? Why on Earth would someone like you want someone like me? And then I get you home and suddenly you’re telling me that you want me, that not only do you look at me the same way, but that you think I’m somehow your equal… And I can barely speak one language, I don’t know anything of value, I’m a  _ security guard,  _ and you’re…”

He trailed off. Enjolras realized his mouth was hanging open. 

“Yeah,” croaked Grantaire. “So. I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything when you asked me to come in. And I’d -- I’d still like to take you out for dinner, if…” 

“Yeah,” said Enjolras softly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay,” said Grantaire, equally softly. “Can I pick you up at your apartment tonight? Say, at six?”

Enjolras nodded, forgetting that Grantaire couldn’t see him. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Okay, well, I’ll let you get back to work, then.”

“Oh my God,” said Enjolras, blinking rapidly. “I’m at work. Holy shit, I completely -- ”

Grantaire laughed, and the tension was broken. “You  _ forgot  _ you were at work? You were that pissed at me?” He was laughing, but Enjolras could hear the pain in his voice. 

“No!” cried Enjolras. “I just -- I just kind of tune everything out when something important’s going on.”

“Oh,” said Grantaire. “Wow. Thank you.”

“Grantaire,” said Enjolras, exasperated. “I’m the one who asked you to stay the night on Saturday. If you weren’t important, you’d know.”

“Wow,” repeated Grantaire quietly, sounding a little overwhelmed. “Thank you.” Enjolras snorted.

“Hey!”

“You’re right, though,” Enjolras said, smiling. “I do need to get back to work.”

“Yes, work. Right,” said Grantaire. “Okay. See you tonight?”

“Yeah,” said Enjolras. “See you then.”

He giggled softly as he hung up the phone, then frowned at himself. He did not  _ giggle. _

Combeferre peered around the door. “Can I -- ”

Enjolras’s third button-down of the night smacked him in the face. “No!”

Pulling the hapless button-down off of his head, Combeferre laughed. “Courf’s here, if you want fashion advice.”

Enjolras paused in front of the mirror, his fingers halfway through buttoning a blue top that Jehan had once complimented. “Is he going to make fun of me?”

Courfeyrac swanned into the room, holding a glass of wine in one hand and a brownie in the other. “Not this time. Eat this,” he said gently, pushing the brownie into Enjolras’s clammy hand. When Enjolras opened his mouth, he cut him off: “Enj, I know you haven’t eaten anything since you made plans for this date, I know you. Eat it.”

He sipped the wine as Enjolras took tiny, begrudging bites of the brownie. “Now,” he said. “Don’t wear that shirt, wear the one you wore to Marius’s Christmas party, you know the one.”

“Are you sure?” asked Enjolras. He was horribly aware of how sticky his armpits were.

“Yeah,” said Courfeyrac, smiling. When Enjolras pulled the shirt out of the closet, arms trembling, Courfeyrac’s smile lessened, and he pried the shirt from Enjolras’s hands.

“Give me that for a sec -- no, Enj, you’ll  _ have time,  _ it’s okay -- just sit down, here you go -- and drink some of this. My goodness.”

Enjolras sipped the wine, biting his lips.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m just,” began Enjolras haltingly. “I really like him, Courf,” he said honestly. “And I’m scared I’m going to fuck it up somehow.”

Courfeyrac’s face softened. “You’re going to be just fine, Enj. Promise.”

“You mean it?”

“Cross my heart,” said Courfeyrac, far too solemn, then grinned. “Get that booty.”

The doorbell rang twenty minutes later, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre disappeared mysteriously as Enjolras crossed the living room to the front door, white-faced.

“Hey, Apollo,” said Grantaire as he opened the door, smiling nervously at him. He was wearing a green shirt and black jeans that fit him  _ perfectly _ , and he had obviously gotten a haircut. And  _ shaved.  _

Enjolras stared.

“Apollo?” Grantaire said in a small voice. 

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I just forgot -- ”  _ How indecently fucking good-looking you were. _

“Forgot?”

“My wallet,” said Enjolras haphazardly. “Oh wait, it’s, um, here in my pocket.” He tapped his jeans pocket lamely, his face flushed.

Grantaire looked at him, his eyes very warm. “Okay,” he said. “Ready to go?” 

“Yeah,” said Enjolras, studying his shoes, his face hot.  _ Smooth.  _ A warm, tanned hand suddenly laced its fingers through his, and he jumped.

“This okay?” asked Grantaire.

Enjolras looked up at him, suddenly close, and felt his breath catch. Grantaire’s eyes were deep green, matching his shirt, and his lips looked so soft that Enjolras just wanted to  _ bite  _ them, one after the other --

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely, squeezing Grantaire’s hand. “Sorry.”

Grantaire looked at him. Enjolras could see some internal struggle behind his eyes, and began, “Is everything -- ” before Grantaire leaned in and kissed him, so softly that he might have missed it had he not felt Grantaire’s gentle breath on his cheek.

“Oh,” he whispered. 

“Sorry,” said Grantaire softly, pulling back. “I should’ve -- ”

Enjolras grabbed his face _(that fucking jawline)_ and pulled him back down, kissing him hungrily, unable to stop himself. He had wanted this for _so long_. After a stunned second, Grantaire’s arms came around him like that night in the club and he was surrounded again by cologne and warmth and a skilled mouth and _fuck._

Grantaire pulled back after some indeterminate amount of time, his pupils huge, mouth red. “Apollo,” he said. “I made dinner reservations.”

Enjolras huffed. “Fine,” he said, diving back in for just a second to suck Grantaire’s lower lip back into his mouth, to bite it one last time and hear his breath catch. “Okay, okay, let’s go,” he said, his fingers lingering on Grantaire’s neck.

Grantaire grinned at him. “Yeah,” he said. “Altar dues gotta be paid.”

Enjolras smacked him on the arm, then took his hand and led him out the door, winking at Courfeyrac, who had peeked in from the kitchen as Grantaire opened the front door. 

Courfeyrac beamed at him.  _ You got this,  _ he mouthed, and Enjolras couldn’t stop his smile. 


End file.
